


Ours Is A Warm Sunrise

by Phrenotobe



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 18:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5015653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phrenotobe/pseuds/Phrenotobe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven days; Dot falls into love with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ours Is A Warm Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [celestialskiff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialskiff/gifts).



On Monday, Miss Fisher is to be a dancer, and extends at a bar as Dot averts her eyes. She wouldn't dream to imagine her so flexible, but as Miss Fisher slips slowly and carefully into the second bend, Dot looks upwards to the comfortable blankness of the studio's ceiling, painted white.  
"What do you think, Dot?" Phryne asks.  
"Good," Dot says automatically, then turning to glance properly. Ballet suits Phryne, the coy extend of her limbs to draw people in, the way she acts with her whole body.  
"Yes," Dot confirms, "Good." 

 

Tuesday's recital, and Jack sits stonefaced beside Dot, with his usual habit of reserving comment until something strange goes on. It all goes off without a hitch, presumably because during the intermission, he'd got up from his seat at Phryne's direction and arrested a stagehand. 

 

The following week on a fresh wednesday, Phryne requests a packed lunch for an outing, and Dot is up before dawn, arranging the radishes with the crockery in a fold of wax paper. The pot brews a strong cup as she cuts a dozen sandwiches from clean, white bread, and fits them together. As the sunlight breaks over the window, she draws the curtains and thinks it'd be nice to see it, her and somebody else, just together and quiet. Pickles cluster in the bottom of a short jam jar, dabbed with a caring spoon of vinegar to keep them moist after Dot closes the lid. 

The outing itself is without incident, or as close as Phryne Fisher ever gets to a quiet time. It is a perfect day in the park, with birds noisy in the trees and the hum and chatter of human beings about the place and enjoying themselves. 

A woman screams and Phryne slips into readiness, shakes up the bottle of champagne. She squints, aims the cork at a man running, flat cap and dark coat and a woman's handbag that certainly wouldn't be his. Her aim is true enough to hit his temple, and he staggers, dropping the bag. Behind him, red-cheeked with effort, Constable Collins bounds to meet him, the golden retriever of the law in action.  
"Nice shot, Miss," Dot says, ready with a cloth to wipe away the fizz. 

 

A month slides by, and then another. Mr. Butler slides a cup of tea under Dot’s nose as she sighs into potato peelings, half a pie in pieces on the table. The stove is warm at her back, but a small comfort by itself. Thursday is a long day, and not even an end of a week.  
“Do you need to talk?” he asks, “You sound like you’ve got a case of a broken heart.”  
“Oh,” Dot says, a moment after it sinks in, “Oh, thank you. No, I’m just thinking.”  
He sets down another cup, sits in the chair with his back to the kitchen door and leans like he’d hang on Dot’s every word, if she’d let him.  
“I just worry for Miss Fisher,” she admits, uncurling a part of her burden.  
“For Miss Fisher?” he prods lightly, “She worries about you too. Don’t say the two of you aren’t a good match.”  
Dot nurses her cup, pulling a thoughtful frown.

 

A week passes, and a new case arrives; the front lights are off in the car, thin dashes of street lamps the only illumination, and Dot sits next to Miss Fisher in the passenger seat, yesterday's picnic sandwiches in a box between them. The hood is up, and Phryne's eyelashes lower and rise as she swims softly into sleep. Only the fact it is a stakeout stops Dot from letting her. The ready smile that lifts the corners of Phryne's mouth sometimes appears as a shadow of itself as she dreams.  
"Miss," she whispers, a hand on Phryne's arm to shuff her awake.  
"Alas," Phryne says softly, "You and I were attending the most delightful cruise. Do you think we should?"  
Dot tries to stay away from getting a tan, but she can't say a break wouldn't be nice. That is, the first few days would more than likely lul them into a sense of security before somebody was thrown overboard. Still, the thought wasn't so bad.  
"Perhaps later in the year," Dot says, "August is a very crime-filled month." 

 

The dinner is for friends of Aunt Prudence, so naturally Phryne invites all of hers. It takes a lot of cajoling to get Dot to relax enough to attend, but once she does, it all seems very natural. Dr. Mac pushes sprouts around her plate with a wry grin at inspector Robinson, and Dot tries to not mentally reprimand them for it, though if their mothers don't know how to cook them (five minutes 'til boil, and then drain the water to keep them crisp) then it isn't likely they'll give them a try. Phryne is stunning as always, with the crease of her eyes as she laughs at a joke, the shine in her eyes as bright as the diamonds in her ears.  
She isn't wearing a necklace, and Dot's eye strays to the dip of her collarbone, regarding it warily as one might watch an alleycat recently taken into your home.  
"Dot?" Phryne purrs, and Dorothy flinches, tearing her gaze away.  
"Yes, Miss?" Dot says habitually.  
"You seem a little distracted."  
"I was thinking about sprouts, Miss," Dot says, which isn't bad for a half truth. 

After the dinner it is all tucked away, a nightmare record of pots and pans and Mr. Butler singing happily to himself in the kitchen, encouraging Dot to go on, go up to Miss Fisher’s rooms. He mans the sink, brooking no argument. Dot is still wearing a nicer dress, and her nerves jangle up as she sets foot on the stairs to go up to her.

Dot lingers in Phryne's room a moment longer after they finish their little talk.  
It is dark outside, the evening blue just after sunset, the fond yellow light from the electric lamps casting soft shadows upon the furniture in the room.  
"Miss... Phryne," she says, "I've been meaning to ask if you'd want to watch the sunrise with me."  
Phryne barely bats an eyelid, though the surprise is evident in the turn of her head away from the mirror, the curious tip of her chin that murmurs 'go on' without speaking outright.  
“Up early?” Phryne says, coy, “On a Sunday?”  
“Church starts at ten,” Dot says, reaching to grip the round of the bedknob for confidence, “If I wanted to do something it would have to be before then.”  
Phryne’s mouth quirks up into one of her little smiles, measuring Dot up anew. Dorothy Williams is a classic beauty, soft voice and curls and clever hands all packaged up in demure clothes - and a quite brilliant brain.  
“Then it would be my pleasure,” Phryne says, and it is warm and welcoming enough that Dot doesn’t know how to leave. 

\-- 

Up on the hill together and no picnic, just a small rug laid out on the dew to keep off the chill, and a blanket to share. Phryne’s hand is slim, reaches and fits to the dips of Dot’s knuckles like they were made in sympathy. She can’t keep her excitement away despite the early hour, breaking into a grin every now and then. The sun lifts over the horizon, climbs higher as Phryne rests a little sleepily against Dot’s shoulder, still eager to see it, engaged despite the few hours she’d usually have kept for dreaming.  
A cacophony of red and yellow break into the blue of the night sky, tremendous and beautiful.  
Phryne gives Dot a sly nudge with her elbow, playful as she leans, the blanket tipping off one shoulder as she does.  
“Are you trying to romance me, Miss Williams?”  
Dot sputters a laugh and has to turn away, re-adjusting the wool around Phryne’s shoulder, tender in manner, with an extra moment to see that it sits just so.  
“I hoped you’d notice,” she said, and tips her chin as Phryne angles hers, letting a kiss happen easily. The soft of Phryne’s mouth blooms a feeling that leaves Dot pink-cheeked and fluttering, able to ask for another silently as she chases Phryne back in the space of a breath.  
“This was a wonderful sunrise,” Phryne says, peeling away only to speak and chuckle a happy laugh, “Consider me thoroughly romanced.”


End file.
